


Every Possible Way

by neoncity



Category: Marvel (Comics), Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse (2018)
Genre: Gen, Very aesthetic-y, i had fun with this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2020-05-02
Packaged: 2021-03-02 08:00:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23968015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neoncity/pseuds/neoncity
Summary: Miles didn't know what world he'd woken up in, but he knew it wasn't his own.He wasn't exactly sure how he knew it. Maybe it  was the creeping, unsettling sensation on the back of his neck that he'd come to recognize as his spider sense, warning him.Maybe it was the fact that the bar across the street's neon sign was red instead of the blue it had always been.Maybe it was the fact that when he tried to go home, the key wouldn't let him in.Something was very very wrong.
Relationships: Miles Morales & Gwen Stacy, Miles Morales & Peter Parker
Comments: 14
Kudos: 98





	Every Possible Way

Miles didn't know what world he'd woken up in, but he knew it wasn't his own.

He wasn't exactly sure how he knew it. Maybe it was the feeling, the creeping, unsettling sensation on the back of his neck that he'd come to recognize as his spider sense, warning him, to get out, to get away, but out of where? Away from what?

His sneakers squeaked on the tiled floor of the coffee shop as he hesitantly pushed his way in. Mrs. Myers smiled at him from behind the counter, like she did everytime Miles dropped by. That sent a slight wave of reassurance his way, though not much.

He ordered a honey tea and a small strawberry pastry, then sat down on one of the various empty red booth seats, sliding his way to the very end of it, against the window.

Miles pulled out his phone, not really knowing why. The time showed 4.43 pm, Friday. He wanted to search something up, something that might be able to explain the slight unease he felt, but no words would come out that could explain the feeling.

The city outside, the cars racing by, the streets crowded with pedestrians, the sparing clouds in a late afternoon sky, this was New York all right. Then why did it feel wrong?

Miles slipped his phone back into his pocket.

Mrs. Myers came by a few moments later, bearing the tea and pastry. She smiled at him, telling him she'd left him an extra sugar pack, like how he always requested. 

Miles thanked her.

He’d never requested an extra sugar pack.

The strawberry pastry was crumbly, fresh and sweet. He finished every bite of it, then wrapped his fingers around the cup of tea, taking small sips of the soothing drink.

He paid and left, slinging a backpack full of books from a school day he had no memory of onto his back. Miles took a bus the rest of the way home. No one else on the bus seemed to notice anything wrong. Maybe it was the homesickness, the fact that he hadn't seen his parents in a week that was bothering him. Maybe it was the yet to be started pile of homework that awaited him. But no, Miles had done this routine -gone to the cafe, ridden the bus to his stop and walked the rest of the way home- countless times since he'd started attending his new school. It had always been a feeling of happiness, of peace, of looking forward to the weekend and to seeing his parents. Not this. Never this. 

It took Miles a good three minutes of standing in front of his apartment building, accompanied by the quiet buzzing of the neon sign hanging outside the local bar to register that this wasn't going to work. He slid the key into the keyhole and turned, but the door just wouldn't open. Miles scanned the list of names of the people who supposedly lived there, but couldn't find his own. He tried calling his parents. 

They didn't pick up.

Something was definitely wrong here.

Miles glared at the buzzing neon sign scrawling "Happy Hour" in piercing red light across the street. That sign had always been blue. Why wasn't it today?

Something drew Miles to a fair, out of all places. A street had been blocked off, and stalls lined the sides of it. A large crowd flitted around them, and the smell of food drifted in the air. Glowing paper lanterns strung from strings pulled taut between street lamps.

The smell of food was tantalizing, and normally Miles would be drawn to the candy apple stands, the caramel popcorn and cotton candy, but his stomach was too twisted in knots to stomach anything. 

He let himself passively be pushed by the crowd's currents.

His mind felt slow, sluggish, thinking felt like trying to move through water. 

Suddenly, murmurs sounded around him and Miles glanced upward. 

A red and blue figure was perched on the top of a nearby building, overlooking the festival. The figure waved at the crowd, who cheered in response, before shooting a web and swinging out of sight. 

Suddenly, Miles' mind was clear.

Spiderman. 

But this spiderman wasn't him.

Peter.

But Miles’ Peter was dead.

This was Peter B. Parker. 

Miles was sure of it.

Which meant this was Peter B. Parker's world.

And Miles had to find him.

Miles rushed into an adjacent street. 

It had taken him a bit to break free from the crowd, but once he had, he'd immediately headed in the direction he'd seen Spiderman swing towards. 

This street was less crowded, but there was still a fair share of people walking to and from the fair. Miles was too slow on foot.

He set his backpack down on the ground, digging through it to see if he had his web shooters. Nope. Just books, books, and more books.

Miles didn't even take geography, why on earth did he have a book on it in his backpack?

He sat down on the edge of the sidewalk, backpack limp in his hands. It was getting dark, and Miles didn't have a home to go to.

And there was little chance of him finding Spiderman without his web shooters. He didn’t know where to go, or how, or if that was even his Peter, and even if he was, would he be able to help at all? 

There was a graffiti piece on the wall next to him. Miles knew this was the worst possible time to be admiring it, but it was stunningly beautiful. 

Bold, neon colors in shades of magenta and cyan, intricate geometrical shapes twisted and blended together, framing the text "Are you ready?", on an inky black background. 

Most of all, the wall had an aura to it, something captivating, fascinating, drawing him in.

The graffiti almost seemed to glow in the darkening sky, keeping Miles' eyes glued to it.

He took a step closer.

"Are you ready?" It asked him silently.

Miles reached a hand out to touch it, stepping forward.

The world spun as Miles stumbled forward, through the mural. For a split second, he was suspended in a world of black, dotted with bright swirling lights, some fainter and distant, others closer by. He stretched his hands forward, urgently searching for something to grasp onto, until he finally latched onto something, and pulled himself through. 

Miles stumbled out, landing on his hands and knees onto a sidewalk. He got to his feet and looked around. 

The street looked virtually identical to the one he'd just been on. Same apartments lining the streets, same leaves swirling on the ground, same crowds of miling people, unperturbed by the fact that a teenage boy had just come through a wall, and same graffiti covered wall. 

Miles tentatively pushed one finger against the wall, then jumped back.

The art was bright and beautiful.

But it had lost the aura it had had, the supernatural pull of it, and, most importantly, it was solid as rock. 

Now certain he wouldn't go stumbling through it like he had before, Miles pushed against the wall with more confidence. It didn't budge. There was no going back through.

Was this another universe? 

It had to be. 

Miles slid down to the ground, his back against the wall. 

He'd left his backpack on the ground on the other side, and while most of the stuff in it had been useless, he still felt upset for having lost it.

Spiderman was not an easy person to find. But it was the only lead he had, Miles had no other ideas. Then his mind flashed back to the wild days right after he'd gained his powers. He may not know how to find Spiderman, but he knew someone better.

Leaves crunched underfoot as Miles made his way to May Parker's house. It was a wild hope that the Spiderman in this verse was a Peter Parker, but they seemed to be the default, so he'd take the chance. He just hoped May Parker lived in the same place here as she did in his own world. 

As he walked, Miles noticed the colors. They were mesmerizing, bright, playful, not unlike the ones of the graffiti he'd fallen through. 

Blues, purple, pink, black and white dominated over all the other colors, sometimes pastel, sometimes neon. Borders faded into each other, seeming phased, like watching a 3D movie without the glasses.

When Miles had been ten, he and his mom had done a drip art piece together. Miles remembered watching the wet colors drift slowly into each other, creating galaxies and patterns all over the canvas before dripping off in excess paint. That's what looking into this world felt like. 

While he walked, he tried to think of what he would say to the Spiderman when he eventually met them. How could he explain when he himself had no idea what was happening? Miles had no memory of entering Peter B's world, and nothing more than a vague guess of how he'd fallen though in and ended up here. He wasn't exactly sure how he knew that the Spiderman he'd seen before was his Peter B either, but his spider sense had told him, and Miles trusted it.

How long had he been away from his world? Would he ever be able to go back?

Panic bubbled up, and Miles stopped on the sidewalk for a second to collect himself.

There was a florist behind him, and soon to bloom flowers hung in vases and sat in pots on the ground and on racks. Miles focused on their sickly sweet smell, calming himself down, and he took a deep breath. Find Aunt May, then figure things out from there.

The more Miles walked, the more he fell in love with this world.

Glimmering, colorful buildings stood proudly over paved roads and the cars that zig zagged across them. A lazy breeze blew, and music played softly from a nearby shop. 

The fog that had clouded his mind earlier was returning slowly, and Miles had to stop a couple of times, having forgotten where he was going. The last of these times, he stopped in the middle of the road, blinking up at the sky in confusion. 

Then he heard the car.

Miles had fast reflexes, but something beat him to it. A rush of movement and a spandex covered arm wrapped around his side, and Miles found himself landing semi gracefully onto a sidewalk as the car rushed through the space he'd been in mere seconds ago. 

"Watch where you're going next time, okay?" A voice told him.

The fog in his mind dissipated.

Miles knew that voice.

Gwen.

A white, black and pink hooded Spiderman stood next to him, looking him over.

Around him, bystanders clapped and cheered.

Miles stammered out a response, but before he could figure out what to say, in this less than ideal situation, she was gone.

As glad as he was to see Gwen, his previous plan was out of the question. Out of all the verses, he'd arrived in the one without a Peter Parker. 

Goddamn it.

Rain. Rain started to fall. Soft, soft pattering, as colourless drops fell from impossibly blue clouds. Miles stared up at the sky, the water cool on his face, a sharp wind blowing, the wind seeming to distort the faded corners of this world even further. The drops, clear, transparent, were the first thing Miles had seen here that weren't a bright, jarringly oversaturated colour. The rain started falling faster, and Miles pulled his jacket around tighter. He knew he should be looking for cover, trying to figure out what to do now, but there was something captivating, something mesmerizing about this rain. A raindrop fell onto his eyelash and Miles blinked. Was it just him, or were the colors around him getting more and more muted?

A car raced by on the street, sending a wave of water crashing onto Miles’ shoes.

He looked down at his soaked feet in dismay. His previously fire engine red shoes, and the bottom of his Jeans were now solid gray. 

Miles looked up from his shoes to see all the colors washing away from the world. Not only the colors, but the buildings themselves were changing as the rain hit them. 

Skyscrapers morphed and shrunk, folding in on themselves, becoming small, dark buildings lining the streets, shadows of their former selves. The clouds turned gray and the sky turned gray and the rain turned gray and the whole world faded to black and white. 

As Miles stared, a second car rolled down the street, looking like it had come straight from an antiques car show.

Miles found himself in a Brooklyn of another century.

This had to be Noir's universe.

The change had happened faster than the previous time. He was phasing in and out of verses faster and faster. 

Miles stuffed his cold hands into his pockets, walking down the street in search of cover.

He tried to remember what Noir had said when he'd introduced himself. What year was it? 1920? 30? It was around World War II. 

Fuck, there were Nazis.

Not that there weren't any in present day, but _fuck there were Nazis._

He pulled his hood down lower. A sign on the wall proclaimed a bar, and Miles ducked into it.

The inside was shroud in semi darkness. Glasses clinked and quiet conversations filled the air. Normally, Miles' entrance would've caused some heads to turn, but he wasn't the only one seeking shelter from the rain. Miraculously, a small table in a grimy corner was free, and Miles sat down, hoping no one would notice him. 

He didn't have to worry, as soon enough, all attention turned to a group of figures at the counter, shouting and jeering at a lone man. 

That did not bode well. 

The group was getting restless, and Miles spotted a patch on one of their arms. 

_Fuck those were Nazis._

The lone man stood up, adjusting his hat.

Please not a bar fight please not a bar fight-

The man decked one of the group members in the face and chaos erupted.

Miles pushed himself further into the corner, regretting his decision to come in. 

He'd take the rain over this any day, but there was no easy way to get to the door now.

A drunken man spotted Miles, and, sensing an easy target, lumbered towards him. Miles sprung lightly to his feet. He hadn't wanted to come to this but he'd fight if he had to.

Making quick work of the man, Miles took the chance to start heading for the exit. He made his way through the fro, throwing punches when needed, but mostly just darting by and ducking, trying to skirt the conflicts. 

He'd almost arrived there, when, in a moment of clear, Miles saw a Nazi raise a bottle over the man with the hat's head as he leaned panting against a table. 

Without thinking, Miles threw himself forward, knocking the bottle out of his hand and kicking him in the chest.

Miles turned, and then his spidey sense screamed, and a chair hit the back of his head, sending him crumbling to the floor. 

Above him, the man with the hat knocked the lights out of his aggressor.

Silence.

Finally, silence.

Well, as much silence as there could be in a barful of men groaning in pain.

Miles could hear sirens edging closer. Wonderful, all he needed now was to get arrested. 

In another universe. 

In the 1930s.

Ugh.

The man with the hat stuck out a hand, and Miles took it. He got to his feet, muttering a breathy thanks.

The man tilted his masked head.

"Miles?"

Holy fuck. 

It was Noir.

Miles should've known it was him the moment he took on a gang of Nazis on his own.

He started to explain, words rushing out, about Peter and Gwen and the graffiti and the rain and how he couldn't get back home before Noir interrupted him. 

"You are home, Miles"

Miles stared at him in confusion.

Noir studied him.

"You're not really here, are you?"

Miles didn't understand.

Noir stepped back. 

There was an edge to his voice Miles couldn't quite grasp.

"Miles. Wake up."

* * *

Rain pattered against Miles' umbrella.

Not color washing, verse morphing rain this time. 

Just.

Rain.

He stood on a sidewalk, staring across the street.

It was Friday. He'd just gotten a hot tea at Mrs. Myers’ place. His parents were waiting for him at home.

Those were the facts.

He was in his own universe. 

Miles knew this. Knew it from the familiarity of the roads, the look in people's eyes, the dust motes floating on the bus.

Noir's voice tells him to wake up echoed in his mind.

It had been a dream. It had to be. It was a figment of his imagination, a story his brain had concocted. All evidence pointed to that.

The graffiti across the street seemed to agree with him. In his verse, it didn't say "Are you ready?". 

Instead, the letters, painted in the same cyan and magenta shades he'd seen before, scrawled out "It was all a dream."

But then, why had it felt so real?

Miles' phone buzzed, and he pulled it out.

It was a text from his mom, asking him if he preferred chocolate or funfetti cake.

It was just a dream. It was just a dream.

Miles texted back chocolate.

His phone buzzed with another text. 

It was from Gwen. 

When Gwen had gone back to her universe, Miles still had her number in his phone. He'd tried texting her one day, and, for some unknown reason, messages could go through to her. Something it took days, even weeks to get a response, proof that whatever system allowed interdimensional texting to happen wasn't perfect, and sometimes messages didn't go through at all. But limited communication was better than no communication, and Miles cherished the sparing conversations he was able to have with her.

Just a dream. Just a dream.

He opened the message.

**Gwen:** I met my verse's version of you today. 


End file.
